Friends and Enemies
by Winter Violet
Summary: Tim is asked to pick Damian up after school, and of course that's not as simple as it sounds. Rated T for language and mild violence.


Imperious was the only way to describe Damian Wayne, and the level of kingly bluster he was managing at the moment, given the fact that he was peering up at a nearly six-foot tall boy, was impressive. But then Tim had seen him stand toe-to-toe with Batman and glare up at the Dark Knight with the same undaunted attitude, so he wasn't quite surprised.

Still, when Bruce had asked him to pick the child up from a late stay at school, he had hardly expected to find him berating what had to be the largest boy in the eighth grade class.

"I invite you to attempt something so tremendously stupid as to come at me, half-wit," Damian announced. "I will place you on your ass before you have the time to make a fist."

The larger boy glowered, hunching in his over-sized green jacket and taking an aggressive half-step forward. "You little shit," he sneered. "What do you you think you're gonna do to me? Mind your own business and I won't break your skinny neck."

Tim leaned back against the passenger's side of the car, raising an eyebrow. His own business? If Damian hadn't started the fight, who had? A quick survey of the scene revealed a red-faced boy hunched near the railing a few steps down from where Damian stood at the entrance to the school. The child's notebooks were spilled from his bag, and he had tears in his eyes.

"Threatening to kill me, Paulson? That isn't a promise you can keep."

"Get out of my way, al Qaeda."

Damian's posture stiffened. Tim gave a pained, worried grunt, but then attacking Damian's middle eastern heritage in such a juvenile and ignorant way wasn't likely to hurt the boy much.

"If you're trying to avoid a fight, you may walk away at any moment," Damian taunted. "Or you may attempt to go through me, if you're so desperate to antagonize a child three years your junior."

"I said," the eighth-grader growled, lurching forward and shoving Damian roughly, "out of my way!"

Damian staggered on the steps but kept his balance, and as he righted himself danger flashed in his eyes. Tim pushed away from the car and walked quickly toward the front of the school. It wouldn't do to have Damian lose his temper and show them that Bruce Wayne's son, supposedly the product of a middle-eastern fling, could fight like a ninja assassin.

But Damian held his ground and did not attack, and for all the bully's posturing he did not advance again when he saw that the child was not intimidated.

"Touch me a second time and I'll break your hands," Damian announced coldly. "Touch Wilson again and I'll make it all the bones in your body."

Tim flinched as he slowed to a stop at the gate. That was excessive. What had this kid done to make Damian so angry?

The larger boy gaped and furrowed his brow, his expression caught between surprise and anger. "The hell you think you are? I'm twice your damn size! Just because you're some Wayne half-breed doesn't make you—"

Tim's eyes widened, but no bit of his vigilante training could have given him enough speed to intercept the lightning-fast kick that hyper-extended Paulson's knee. He froze as the boy shrieked and stumbled, doubling over to grip the damaged leg with both hands.

Damian stood over the bent boy, glowering down on him with his chin held high in that classic, arrogant pose of his. "Anything else to add regarding my parentage?" he drawled.

The boy hobbled away from him, down the stairs. "You're crazy," he cried shrilly. "My knee…" His friends helped him as he limped down to the curb and fell in a heap.

Tim chose that moment to come forward. Ideally, he could escort Damian to the car and they would be gone before any angry parents showed up to make a scene. He would leave the aftermath for Bruce or Dick to deal with—and not feel one bit guilty about it. They were the ones who let Damian act this way.

Damian had turned his attention away as well. To Tim's surprise, he had knelt to pick up the smaller boy's notebooks and was handing them back. He was speaking to him, and the child was nodding and sniffling simultaneously.

"…your phone," Damian was saying. "Contact me at any time. Particularly if any of those insufferable children give you trouble."

"Thank you," the boy whispered. He zipped his bag and looked up. He noticed Tim observing them, and he gave Damian a worried glance.

Damian looked over his shoulder, expression turning peevish at what he likely assumed was another bully. The look did not change much when he saw who it was.

"…Drake," he muttered.

"Wayne," he returned.

Damian scowled. Tim had turned the kid's last-name habit on him about a month ago, and it still irritated him every time. He rose to his feet. The younger boy did the same, his hands gripping one strap of his backpack tightly.

"Why are you here?" Damian demanded.

"Giving you a lift. Alfred is busy, and Dad had something come up."

Damian's eyes narrowed. That was another point of irritation with him. Adopted legally or not, he refused the notion that Bruce Wayne was Tim's "dad." That would, after all, necessarily make him Damian's "brother." And that was clearly unacceptable to him. Tim smiled before the boy could send out another barb. He was starting to feel a little guilty for prickling Damian in front of the kid who so clearly looked up to him, so he made an effort to play nice.

"I saw you shut down that kid in the coat. Nice kick. His mom is going to be pissed."

The little boy's eyes widened at the language. Tim winced. He was used to being more blunt with Damian, but then most kids at the prep school probably didn't hear the sort of language the Bat clan did in the streets every night. A foul-mouthed pre-teen bully shooting off expletives was one thing, but an eighteen year old in a pressed suit and tie was another.

"Angry," he corrected. "She's going to be angry."

Damian picked up his own bag. "I've no doubt my father will inform her that her son is a lout and a nuisance should she make an issue of it."

He descended the steps and then glanced back at the boy. "…Andrew," he said slowly. "I was sincere in my earlier offer. Contact me should… anything… come to mind."

Tim raised a brow, surprised again. He was using the kid's first name and everything. The child smiled faintly and nodded. Damian sent a glare in the direction of the older boys, huddled now and whispering, on the curb. He flexed and clenched the fingers of his right hand, a nervous tic that Tim had noticed many times on patrol when Damian was particularly upset over a case. Tim reasoned through his anxiety easily enough. He did not want to leave the kid alone with the bullies still within striking distance. Tim sighed inwardly. Apparently they would not be managing to get going before Paulson's parents arrived. Tim turned to the boy.

"You have a ride coming, Andrew?"

He nodded again, still shy. "My dad. After work."

Tim pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. It was already four o'clock. Damian had stayed after for some reason—detention, probably. But this boy did not seem like the type for trouble-making or extracurriculars. "When does he get off?"

"He leaves the office about four thirty," Andrew explained. "He'll get here about five."

"…You just wait here? By yourself?"

Andrew's eyes fell. Damian shot Tim a nasty look.

"He's not a baby, Drake. He doesn't need a sitter."

"Not saying he does. Must be boring, though."

"Oh," the boy protested. "I just do my homework. It's okay. Dad gets here soon as he can."

"Well, I don't have any appointments. Damian?"

The boy glared at him. He ignored the hostility.

"Want to hang out here for awhile? I can work on my laptop. In the car."

Damian's eyes narrowed so much that he was practically squinting. He glanced again at Andrew. "…I have no previous engagements," he said. He let his bag slip from his shoulder so that he was holding it with one hand and faced the younger boy. "If you would like company."

He said it so formally, tone flat, that Tim turned his head to hide a smile. Damian could be so ridiculously pretentious that it was sometimes cute. Mostly infuriating, but sometimes cute.

"…Sure," came the surprised answer. "If you want."

When Tim looked back, face settled into a more neutral expression less likely to start a fight, Damian was blinking and gripping the strap of his backpack a little too hard where it hung in his hand. As nervous and shy as Andrew was, Damian was not used to being wanted, either.

"…Okay," he said. He climbed the steps slowly and joined Andrew as the boy took a seat again.

Tim glanced over to the bullies. The boy in green was getting into a car, snarling something at one of his friends and doing his best not to limp. A man was in the driver's seat. His father, then—and evidently a man who would not be sympathetic to an injury inflicted by an eleven year old.

"I'll wait in the car," Tim announced to the boys as he turned back to them.

Damian was sitting awkwardly, his bag between his knees and his shoulders hunched, and Andrew was smiling shyly again with a happiness he just managed to keep under the surface.

"…You have your tablet, Damian?" Tim asked.

He nodded, clearly uncomfortable and always suspicious.

"You could show Andrew that new shooter you've been playing," Tim suggested.

Damian was glowering now.

"I'm certain we don't need suggestions, Drake."

Andrew glanced between the two of them. "The _Wargames_ sequel?" he ventured. Then his eyes widened, as if he had surprised himself by speaking. He flushed.

Damian looked at him. "…Yes," he said after a moment. "You… play it?"

Andrew nodded, turning redder. "I like it. You can co-op if you invite someone. I haven't tried, though," he added almost inaudibly.

"Neither have I," Damian returned. He frowned. And then, making up his mind in the resolute way that only Damian did, he reached down and unzipped his backpack to produce his tablet. He pressed the power button and tapped in his passcode. "You have yours?"

Tim watched, a little amused, as the boy nodded eagerly and searched his own backpack. Tim took that moment to step away and wave a hand in parting.

"I'll be in the car," he reminded them.

Damian glanced up and caught his eye as Andrew focused on the device he had set across his knees. The serious, clear-eyed look he gave him was new. He held it for only an instant before looking decisively back to his own tablet, and Tim did not have time to properly interpret it.

But he would have sworn it meant something like 'thank you'. He couldn't be sure, of course; he certainly had no point of comparison for Damian.

Still, Tim could not help the grin that brightened his face as he walked back to the car.

Working in the cramped vehicle for an hour would not exactly be pleasant, but he was pretty sure that seeing princely little Damian having a normal, down-to-earth friendship with one of his classmates was worth it.

Tim's smile had softened by the time he got into his car and shut the door, and as he glanced back to see the boys huddled together on the step, Damian pointing at something on Andrew's screen, it was maybe even a little fond.

Maybe.


End file.
